Young Detectives
by Nowordwriter
Summary: 15 year old detective, Evelyn, moves to London from the USA with her family. Little does she know, competition lives right up stairs... Rated T just to be safe. This summary makes the story sound drab. Which it might be. Personally I think its awesome, but that might be because I wrote it.
1. In which I introduce myself

**Author's Note: Hello everyone! My name is Nowordwriter and I'll be writing this story here for you! I really hope you enjoy it and if you do, feel free to leave a review! I'll apologize beforehand if I make any grammar mistakes. Sorry. Feel free to correct me on those, also. ****Enough chit-chat.** **Read on!**

**-NWW**

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Hello! My name is Evelyn West and this is my journal you are reading. Yes, I am fifteen year old girl writing in a journal. Don't hear of that much do you? Nowadays it's all "You don't have enough make-up on OH-EM-GEE!" and other crap like that. Well, the reason I have a journal is one, my foster mom gave it to me. Two, it's cool looking. It's plain...black. But it's leather, so that makes it awesome. Three, I am probably one the most fortunate girls on earth. Why? You might ask. Because I have met Sherlock Holmes.

Alright so you know my name and you know my age. Now for my looks. Wavy hair, an unattractive shade of light brown I must admit, hangs down to just past my shoulders. You can tell I'm concentrating when I have my hair pulled back with my special red hair-tie. It's red...and kind of worn out...but hey, it works. I'd like to tell you that I have a light splattering of freckles over my nose...but...I've been told wishful thinking is a strong suit of mine. So basically it looks like the freckle monster threw up on my face. Like, six times. My nose in weirdly long and I'm 5'5''. Okay, now for personality...let me think...I'm pretty easy going, not too attatched to any specific person place or thing. Um, I'm pretty quiet but I guess I tend to ask a lot of questions. And I've been told I ask the weirdest crap too. And say the weirdest things...according to Amy (my foster mom). Also I don't have many friends. I'm not socially awkward or anything, when the time calls for it I can be wonderfully friendly. But I don't see the point of longterm friends. Well, besides Tyler of course.

I like to have people working for me. And, appparantly I can get people pretty angry when I use sarcasm. Now...things I like... I like to play the violin...I like the color red...I like loud music...I like otters...I like maps...I love puzzles. Not like puzzles with pieces that you fit together, but figuring things out. I'm pretty good at them too. Mental Puzzles.

I used to live in Washington D.C but have since moved to London. That was...about a year ago. And my recollection take place at that time. The story will begin with Evelyn's Life History. Remember though, I am telling the tale as if it is happening like now. Enjoy!

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Evelyn's life history: My biological parents are Matt and Penny West. They raised me until I was three then something about them changed and they decided they weren't ready to have kid yet. So bye-bye, I was sent off to...any guesses? You got it! FOSTER CARE! Yay! So far I have lived with three families, all of which discarded me after they got bored. I am currently living with the Collins' Family. Henry Collins and his wife, Amy, took me in when I was thirteen. They have two sons, Charlie, who is seven and Tyler who is seventeen. My brothers. Charlie has dark, dark, dark, dark brown hair, like his dad, and deepset eyes, also like his dad. He's pretty much Henry's mini-me. Amy on the other hand has loooong lustrous blonde hair. Which Tyler inherited. Yep, so anyway. For my birthday last week, I turned fifteen, Amy and Henry told me they were going to officially adopt me sometime in the next few weeks. I was sooo ecstatic! Finally a sense of belonging and worth came over me. And my foster brothers were all for it as well. It's always a plus when your brothers want you too.

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So I woke up, sprawled out over my bed, as if I were trying to be one of the sheets themselves. It was Friday morning, third day of summer vacation. I probably would have stayed there half the day if it weren't for the ungodly noise that had woken me up in the first place.

"Evelyn! Evelyn!" The pitch kept rising at the end of my name each time it was yelled, so at first I thought it was Charlie and his puberty was hitting a few years early. God, that's just what we need. A brainy seven year old with a voice like a man. Shiver. See, Charlie is quite intelligent in the way of Mathematics. He's normal with all other subjects but for some reason he excels in math. Seriously you wouldn't know how horrible it is unless you had your younger sibling correcting your math homework and offering to take tests for you if you paid him.

I rolled over and shouted, "WHAT?!"

"Evelyn there's a bug in my room!" Oh, Tyler is kind of a macho dude. Tall, lean, muscular. Annnnnd deathly afraid of bugs. He's reminded me more than once that if I accidently slip and let that detail out at school he will personally pull out my intestines and feed them to Coffee, our family's pet rabbit. I'm not going to put that past Tyler either, I just feel bad for Coffee.

"FINE!" I rubbed my bleary eyes and peered at the clock. 9:17. It should be against the law for teens to get up before 10am in the summer. I toppled out of bed and pulled open my movie-poster covered door and stumbled down the hall to Tyler's room.

It took me 15 minutes to find and dispose of the the little itty bitty bug. And it's not like Tyler was helping much. He cowered on his bed the whole time. After I helped Tyler out, I showered, dressed, ate food, watched TV, got the mail, said hello to my neighbors, ate more food, went for a run—I'm proud to say I am quite muscular and lean, sometimes I work out with Tyler—, ate more food, called up some aquiantances of mine to talk business—I run a Lost Things Found company so I have a few kids working for me—, helped Tyler cook spaghetti for supper and then finally at 6:00pm exactly, Henry burst through the door, just as he does every other day of the week.

"Me Familia!" He announced with a sad attempt at Spanish. We cringed. "No me familia?" he said again, a frown upon his face.

"No more me familia," Tyler and I responded in unision, sadly shaking our heads. Charlie dashed into the room, his dark hair tousled and still in his pajamas.

"Dad! Guess what? Tyler screamed again today! And then Evelyn had to go save him!It was fuuuuuuunny!" Tyler reddened and started to respond but was cut off by Henry.

"Did he? That's interesting, but remember what Mom told you about laughing at others fears?"

Charlie crinkled his nose. "I s'pose"

Henry ruffled the little genius's hair. "Well there you go. What's for dinner?"

Amy arrived a few minutes later and we all sat down as a family to eat our delicious and hearty spaghetti meal.

"Since we are all here, Dad and I have an announcement to make." She glanced at Henry and he gave her an encouraging nod. We all stared at them, slightly confused with noodles half shoved in our mouths. "Now before I continue, I just want you all to that this is not negotiable," She looked pointedly at Tyler. "Whether you like it or not. Dad has had very lucrative job offer and we have decided to accept it."

Henry works for some company, they make furniture or immediately knew what was coming next.

"No!" he said forcefully, "I am not moving!"

"Tyler—," Amy tried and failed to calm him.

"No! This is where all my friends are! My life. We—we can't leave, I mean...we can't..." He grew silent and just stared at his plate. I knew Charlie wouldn't really care about moving. He just kinda goes with things. Me on the other hand...well I needed to know where we were moving first. This could effect my business.

"Where would we be moving?" I asked.

My foster parents smiled. "London, England."

The mouthful of noodles I had just lifted to my mouth fell off the fork and slid back onto my plate. Even Tyler lifted his head at this.

"Where is England again?" Charlie asked with cute confused look on his face.

Geography was one thing Charlie wasn't to good at. Tyler stood up so fast his chair fell over backward and crashed onto the ground. He stormed out of the room and a few seconds later we heard his bedroom door slam.

Soooo..." I began, "When do we leave?"

Henry turned to explain to Charlie where England was and such and Amy told me, "Two weeks." She took my hand and squeezed it. "And we almost have the adoption papers."

I was silent at first. This would definitely effect my business. I would have to fire my employees and take Lost Things Found with me or run it from overseas or appoint a new boss and start a whole new company in England. Lost Things Found is my company that finds things—People's valuables, pets...we haven't actually had any missing humans yet, but we were still expanding—that are lost. I actually have six kids working for me and they all have contracts and salaries and we even have our own business cards. It was a lot of work putting that together. I would have to think about it more, but I was feeling inclined toward the option of firing them all and bringing the business with me. Now the adoption papers were wonderful news. I would believe it and show some excitement when I saw it. Don't get me wrong, I really love the Collins parents, but it was like they were holding back just a bit. Almost like they weren't ready to commit to having another kid yet. I guess they liked the idea that they could get rid of me anytime. I'm a bit cynical sometimes.

I smiled and squeezed her hand back. "I guess I need to start packing."

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**How'd you like it?  
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	2. In which I take a walk with gunshots

**Author's Note: Someone you all know and love makes an appearance in this chapter...oooh exciting!**  
**Review?**

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Skipping ahead two weeks.

Amy actually grew up in England. Her father had be executed for some reason she never would tell us. But her mother still lived in London and was now living her life as a landlady. Grandma Hudson had informed Amy that she had an empty apartment in her building, but it was never used and falling apart and moldy. But it is apparantly quite large and enough space for a family of five. And she said we could all cram into her apartment for a few weeks while the big apartment was getting fixed up.

So here we were, shoved tighly into the back of a taxi, on our way to Baker Street. We had our travel bags on our laps. The furniture would be coming overseas later when the apartment was ready to be outfitted. We sent our clothes over before we left, so they were waiting at Mrs. Hudson's place. Henry had stayed behind and wouldn't be arriving for another week, so it was just us four. He stayed back to finish getting things ready for his compnay. Something like that.

So far, London was amazing. It was just starting to darken outside and all the city lights were glowing softly. Last year I had saved enough money from my business to buy myself a fancy camera. I lifted it up to the window and quick snapped a photo of the street we were on. Speaking of my business, I had fired all of my employees. I felt kinda bad for putting them out of a job just like that. But they would manage somehow.

Ten minutes later—I knew because I had a watch. Not like Tyler here sitting next to me. He was constantly asking me what time it was. Bothersome boy—the driver pulled off to the side of the road.

"Here we are!" he called back. We climbed out and waited on the sidewalk with our bags as Amy paid the driver and thanked him. Charlie clutched my hand. Infront of us was a small cafe thingy called Speedy's and on its immediate left was a door with 221B in brass plates on it. I was confused. Our moldy apartment was supposed to be 221C. I glanced down the street to make sure our door wasn't down thataway. Nothing.

"Tyler? Where is 221C?" He shrugged helpfully and went to lean moodily against the wall. He was still coming to terms with moving. Amy was on her cell, probably calling her mother. I peered up the building. I thought I saw a shadow move in one of the windows but I couldn't be sure. Suddenly the 221B door burst open, making us all jump and Charlie squeeze my hand even tighter. A short man with sandy hair and an ugly sweater smiled at us.

"You must be Mrs. Hudson's family. I'm John Watson. I live in 221B."

Amy smiled. "Oh alright, Nice to meet you Mr. Watson—"

He cut her off and said, "John, please, for all of you." he gestured at us kids.

"John, I'm Amy and these are my sons, Tyler and Charlie," She gestured the boys. I slightly miffed she didn't introduce me as one of her children. But whatever. Before she remembered I was there, I stepped forward and stood out my hand.

"Evelyn West. Nice to meet you."

Amy looked taken aback. "Yes, Evelyn is our foster, soon to be adopted,daughter."

"I see," said John. "Nice to meet you as well, Evelyn." He put out an arm, welcoming us. "But what am I doing! Please, come inside! Just through that door back there. Yes, that one." Tyler led the way to a door that had 221A on it. Amy's mother's apartment. We filed inside to a small kitchen. It was very small. I didn't know how we could all stay here even if it was only for a few weeks.

"Amy dear!" Came a cute old lady voice. I turned to see a cute old lady follow the voice. She was small and cute. I don't how else to describe her.

"Mum!"

The two woman embraced. It was weird, seeing Amy call some one 'mum'. Having never met her grandsons before. Amy introduced them to her. Then the old landlady turned to me.

"And you must be Evelyn! Oh dearie how beautiful you are!" She gave me a hug and I made a face at Tyler. Which unfortunately John Watson saw as he was leaving the kitchen. "You can call me Grandma too, ok?"

I smiled at her, "Actually if it's alright with you, I'll just call you Mrs. Hudson." The smiled disappeared and she pulled away slightly.

"Oh. Oh alright. If that's what you want." I didn't mean any offense, it's just that I wasn't ready for that yet. The smiled popped back on her face as she turned to Amy again.

"Let me show you to the sitting room dear...this way, this way." She 'hooed' and 'cooed' as she led Amy out of the small kitchen. Charlie and Tyler followed silently, Charlie hanging on to the back of Tyler's sweatshirt. I sighed and watched them exit. I lowered myself onto a chair and as soon as I sat, my stomach let loose a loud rumble. I checked to make sure no one was looking, then pulled open the refrigerator door. I grabbed an apple and called to Amy.

"Amy I'm going for a quick walk, ok? Just to get a feel for the area."

"Ok, but stay on this street!"

I told her I would, then snatched my bag from the table and left.

Baker Street was surprisingly full of people for how dark it was. I stared down the street, both ways. Left and right. Left looked more interesting so off I went. I was feeling a little down at the moment. Moving and being told that your adoption would be official very soon. I guess I forgot to mention that two weeks ago was the third time Amy had said that. I wasn't too hopeful. I felt like they would give me back to the agency any moment. Unloved, that's the word.

I leaned against a building wall and put in my ear-buds, but left them silent, and slitted my eyes. I felt like watching. I just wanted to see. A woman hurried past on her phone. I heard a brief part of her conversation.

"...Oh yes, Clare is growing up so fast!..."

That was it. I don't know how long I was there for, but once I noticed less and less people were passing, I figured it was time to head back. I tugged out the earphones and was wrapping them up when a tall man walked up to me.

"You need to leave here right now."

Who was this guy? I took a few steps back, just in case. "Why?" I demanded.

"I don't have time to argue. Just leave!"

"I'll leave when I feel like it."

I really was just about to leave, but I would stay a few extra minutes just to prove this man wrong. He muttered something under his breath and swore. I believe I heard the words "Stubborn" and "American".

Stuck-up British.

The street was completely deserted now, so I figured I probably should go. I gave in.

I started to say, "Fine, I'm leaving." but I was cut off by gunshots. Yep, you read that right. Gunshots. I was just as surprised. I even yelped. The man swore again. "Run!" he said, motioning for me to go first. I hestitated a second, then two more gunshots broke through the air, and I took off.

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**How's that for a cliffhanger? Read on to see what happens next.  
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	3. In which I meet Holmes and almost die

**Author's Note: The 3rd chapter has arrived! I had fun with this one. I'm not claiming to be a great writer, this stuff is mostly for my own entertainment but if you do happen enjoy it...then yay! I just love getting emails that say "new review/fave/follow for Young Detectives", so don't be shy people, go ahead and review/fave/follow!**

_two more gunshots broke through the air, and I took off..._

...He followed closely behind me. I heard shouts behind us and sped up. I was headed toward Mrs. Hudson's place, but the man grabbed the back of my hoodie and hauled me into an alley where we crouched behind a dumpster.

"We're gonna die," I moaned softly. He motioned for me to not make a noise. A stupid hiding place, I thought. I heard voices arguing about where we went. I was so terrified, I forgot to breathe. Then they faded away. Apparantly the gunmen hadn't seen us dive into the alley.

I let loose a sigh, and said, "Stupid gunmen didn't even think to look here. Ha!" The man lunged forward, trying to shush me. Too late.

"There they are!" I was roughly dragged to my feet. Tall Man had the same done to him.

"Where is the money?"demanded a little man with greasy red hair, which, to tell the truth, didn't look very attractive as facial hair.

Wow, I should have known. Tall Man was probably a thief or something.

"The money is not yours, it belongs to Gareth Townsley. But you know that don't you, because that's who you stole it from," Tall Dude said calmly. (How could he be calm at a time like this! I felt like wetting myself. I didn't, but it was a strong urge. I'm kidding, by the way. I didn't really feel like wetting myself. Anyway.)

A man who looked like a rat jumped, "How does he know we stole it from Townsley? He shouldn't know that!"

"Shut up!" snarled Red Head. "He is paid to know things, aren't you?"

Tall Man was silent.

"Give us the money!" Red Head repeated in an even nastier tone.

"I don't have it. But if you listen closely, you will hear the sounds of sirens about..." -Tall Guy cocked his head, listening closely - "...now."

As if on cue, the wailing of police sirens came into hearing as soon as he finished. I was impressed. And relieved. As soon as the four gun mens' head swiveled towards the sound, Tall Man swepped out his leg, tripping Red Head. Turns out Tall Man knew some form a martial arts. He swiftly took down all three men. He grabbed one of the guns and turned to me. I watched as his eyebrows slowly lowered even further. I remembered the man holding me from behind and felt the cool barrel of the gun pressed against my temple. I couldn't believe this was happening to me. The man holding me said, "Put then gun down or a bullet goes through the girls head!" I stiffened and Tall Man slowly set the gun on the ground. The police arrived and they pointed their guns at the man behind me.

"Release the girl and put your gun down!"

"Actually," said my captor, "It seems as though I have the upperhand here." I rolled my eyes, I was getting tired of this man.

"Now tell me where—" Before he could finished his request, I pulled up my knee and slammed the heel of my boot straight back as hard as I could. The man screamed and released me. I quickly spun and yanked the gun from his faltering grip and pointed it at him. The police rushed from behind me and took over. Some one gently removed the gun from my grasp. A police woman started asking me questions about what happened. I answered as best I could and when she finished I turned to see Holmes standing behind me.

"Nicely timed," he said approvingly. I don't know why, but I felt that was a huge compliment coming from him.

He frowned, "Are you alright?"

I put a hand to my cheeks and I laughed, as I realized I was leaking tears. "I'm fine...it's just..well, that's never actually happened to me before."

"I've got some things to clear up with Detective Inspector Lestrade over there," He gestured at a man with graying hair who looked like he had authority, "Then I'll have some one escort you home."

"Actually, it's fine. I'm staying near here. I can walk. "

He narrowed his eyes. "Well in that case, I will walk you myself."

I raised my eyebrows. "Evelyn West."

He shook my outstretched hand. "Sherlock Holmes."

Then he walked off toward the Lestrade man. After a few minutes of waiting, sense kicked in and I realized poor Amy would be scared out of her wits, hearing those gunshots. Turned on my phone and realized I had had it on silent. We might have been dead if it had rang while we were hiding. There were seven missed calls. Guilt washed over me for not having called her earlier. I dialled her cell.

She answered immediately.

"Evelyn! Are you alright?! We were so worried! What happened? You come back right now! Right now, you hear me young lady?" Her voice was so loud I had to hold the phone a few inches away from my ear. Mr. Holmes arrived back, and I held a finger up to ask for another minute. He nodded and waited a few feet away.

"Yes, Amy, I'm fine... Yes, I'm sure...Yes, I will explain everything...three weeks!? Amy, that's not fair!...no...It's not my fault...No, I did not get shot...No, I was not the one shooting the gun...I did not set a building on fire! Where did that even come from?...The sirens...Oh, they were police sirens, they sound a bit different here...Arrested? No, I wasn't arrested...Amy, I will explain everything when I get back...in about ten minutes...Is Mrs. Hudson alright?...Good...two people?...Who is the other?...Oh, I see...I love you too. Bye."

Mr. Holmes watched this conversation unfold with slight amusement on his face.

"So that's what worried mother's sound like," he remarked with mild interest.

"Foster mother, actually. And don't talk to me. I just found we live in the same building."

"Is that so?"

"Don't tell me Mrs. Hudson didn't tell you her daughter's family was coming to stay with her for a few weeks."

He looked thoughtful for a moment, "Ah, yes, I do believe she mentioned it. I must have been distracted when she told me."

"I met your flatmate, John Watson."

"And what did you think?"

"I don't know him well enough to say."

He abruptly turned and began walking toward Mrs. Hudson's building. I hoisted my bag and hurried to catch up.

"What were you doing, leaning against that wall?" he asked without turning around.

"I could ask you the same thing. Why were you running from those men?"

"I am a consulting detective. I was on a case."

A detective. That's competition for me. Though maybe we could come to some sort of agreement. Kinda like business partners.

"Do you often run from dangerous men with guns when working on cases?"

"Occasionally."

Excellent. I just had the most exciting thing in my life happen to me and here was a man who experienced that thing 'occasionally' and lived next door. I wouldn't be ignoring Sherlock Holmes in the future.

"I was watching." I expected him to ask questions like, "what were you watching?" and such, but no, he just nodded as if he understood. Interesting.

We stopped at the door with 221B on it.

"Very soon you will meet Amy, prepare yourself for a storm of questions and smothering concern," I cautioned him. We stepped inside and I was slammed into with such force I think I got a concussion. Mrs. Hudson rushed out right behind Amy and after seeing I was alive, went to make sure Holmes was alright. I was smothered with hugs, disciplined with lots of finger-wagging, smothered again and then:

"You're grounded for three weeks!"Amy finished. I was aghast.

"Three weeks?! You were _serious?_ No, it's not my fault."

"Well then who's fault is it, Evelyn?" Her tone was tinted with sarcasm. I couldn't be grounded for three weeks. I just got here. I needed a way out.

"It was Mr. Holmes's fault," I sputtered. Then after that, everything went really fast. "Sherlock's fault?" "My fault?" and "Who's is Mr. Holmes?"were said all at once. In answer to Amy I pointed to Mr. Holmes.

"Yeah, he had gunmen after him and he made me hide with him."

"Was I just supposed to leave you there? Who knows what the gunmen would have done,"Holmes said with the same tone a six year old would argue in.

Amy seemed to consider this. "Well it seems you are both right. Mr. Holmes, I thank you for protecting Evelyn. You really don't know how grateful I am."

Holmes shifted uncomfortably. Mrs. Hudson nudged him.

"Right," he sighed, "you're welc-"

"On the other hand," Amy interrupted, "You were the cause of the gunmen being there in the first place. So, Evelyn you won't be grounded, but since Mr. Holmes most likely just saved your life, if he ever needs any help with any work that needs to be done around his apartment, you will be at his call." Holmes smiled, it seemed he liked the idea of having a "servant".

I swore in my head. But still, this was better than being grounded.

"Fine."

After that, everything just seemed blurred. Sherlock Holmes ran upstairs, presumedly to tell John all the events of the night. Mrs. Hudson showed me where I would be sleeping—a really small couch that was in the same room as my brothers bunk-beds in a spare room she had made up just for us. I have no idea where she got the bunk-beds, but whatever, I wasn't complaining.

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**Reviews? I think yes.**


	4. In which I text a man in shower

**Author's Note: My dearest readers...HI! Just wondering...should I name the chapters? Would it make it more interesting? I think I might. **

**Also a great big THANK YOU to everyone who reviewed the story so far! It really encourages me to write more. Most frabjous! Thank you! **

**P.S. If there are any blurbs in my writing (continuous grammar mistakes, spelling) please feel free to correct me! Also, suggestions on how to make my writing better. Alrighty then. Enjoy!**

The next few days were a blur as well. We mostly were just fixing up the the moldy apartment. Mrs. Hudson hired some men to put in new drywall where the old stuff had gone bad. Those same men also put up new trim and redid a few spots on the floor. Our work involved a whole lot of cleaning. Sometimes John would come down and help, but never Holmes. I found John to be quite an interesting person.

"So what did you do for a living before you moved in with Holmes?" I asked three days later when Tyler, John and myself were pulling down moldy drywall in our potential living room. "I was an army doctor," he replied, "In the army."

"Did you fight?" asked Tyler eagerly. Tyler had recently begun thinking about joining the military after he graduated high school. All of us had, of course, tried to discourage him of his plan.

"A bit, mostly with uncooperating patients," John said after a pause. A crack split the air as I yanked on an especially stubborn piece of wall and it broke off. "Cool. Got any advice?" Tyler asked.

"What, you're joining the army?"

"Well, yeah. As soon as I graduate." John gazed at him intently, which Tyler just about shriveled under, for a few moments, then went into a speech about why he shouldn't join the army and all it's disadvantages. It was a boring half hour, let me tell you. Though I did hear a few interesting stories that John told us as examples. By the time the wall was cleared, I don't think Tyler was planning on joining the army anymore. A fact I was thankful to John for.

I hadn't seen Holmes since the gunmen incident except for fleeting glimpses as he would dash up or down the stairs to their flat. Though I could definitely hear him. Charlie started to refer to our neighbors as the "nice man and the mad man" for all the noise they made.

I was working on my new business plans at the kitchen table when Mrs. Hudson walked into the room, dressed for going out.

"Sherlock was wondering if you would help with something or another. He's in a good mood today, so you'll be fine. I'm going out to buy some groceries. I'll be back in a bit," she informed me sweetly. "I will. Thank you, Mrs. Hudson!" I said. I heard her cooing and muttering pleasantly to herself as she left.

Amy and the boys had left earlier to go clothes shopping. And they also wanted to ride the eye of London. I wasn't too interested in seeing London from that high. Truth is, I'm not overly fond of heights.

I had been trying to design new business cards. The old ones were too...American. Sighing, I left Mrs. Hudson's apartment and ran up the stairs to 221B. I figured this was a good way to get on Holmes's good side as any. Maybe I could learn a bit more about his work.

I knocked on the door. No answer. I repeated the action.

I heard Holmes's distinguished voice through the door. "Yes, come in."

The inside of their apartment was cluttered but not in a bad way. There was also a TV hanging on the wall. Mrs. Hudson didn't have a TV that played dvd's. I could envision future visits to this sitting room if theirs did. I stepped around a pile of books.

"Where are you?"

"Kitchen," Was his one word answer. I followed his voice and found myself standing in the most interesting kitchen I had ever seen. It seemed as though this kitchen wasn't used for cooking much. At least not cooking food as far as I could tell. The table which Holmes was sitting at was littered with...things. I couldn't quite tell what most of them were.

"OK," I said uncertainly. He glanced up. "OK what?"

"OK, I'm here. What do you want?"

"Oh right. Never mind, I don't need your help anymore."

"What?" He couldn't just call me up like this and then suddenly decide that he didn't need me anymore.

"You heard me."

"Well I can't leave now."

"Why not?"

"Now I'm curious as to what you wanted help with in the first place. I come in here and you appear to be dissecting something on the table. Who dissects things on their kitchen table? Apparently you do and that's not something I'm just going to ignore." Holmes seemed to consider what I just said, then suddenly he picked up his phone and tossed it to me.

"Do you know how to send a text?"

"I'm a fifteen your old girl, of course I know how to send a text."

"Send a text to John. Tell him I need him here as soon as soon as possible. It's very important." I searched his contacts, located "J. Watson", typed the message and hit send.

"Where is John?" I asked out of curiosity. But before he could answer, the phone buzzed. Holmes gestured for me to read what John texted. "It says: 'Sherlock, Can you at least wait until...I'm out of the shower?!' I just sent a text to a grown man in a shower?! Ew! No, just no." I hurriedly placed the phone on the table. Holmes chuckled. "It's not funny," I said indignantly. I moved closer to see what he was doing.

"Not too close, this acid will instantly melt anything it touches."

I cringed.

"Was that...a sarcastic joke?"

"Yes. It wasn't funny?"

"No. I'd avoid all future attempt at joking until you are able to get some serious instruction."

He didn't answer so I watched him work for a few minutes.

"Does your TV play dvds?" I asked.

"Of course, why?"

"Have you seen The Matrix?"

"No."

"Mrs. Hudson's TV doesn't play dvds."

He nodded as if he understood. How can he understand if he has never seen the Matrix? Really? I mean, it's the _Matrix_ for gosh sake. I let it alone for now. But I would be having a serious convo with John about need-to-watch movies.

"Soooo, can I come closer so I can get a better view as to what you are doing?"

"If you must." I grinned and rushed over to peer over his shoulder. It was a cat.

"Why are you dissecting a cat?"

"Why are you so interested?" He asked with annoyance. I shrugged "Like, I said before: curiosity." He scoffed, "Curiosity killed the cat." he said with a blank face. I snorted. "That was a bit funny," I admitted. He smiled. "Anyway, the cat ate something bad, I'm trying to figure out what. It's for a case." I frowned at the mention of his job.

"Oh, right...Consulting detective?" He smiled proudly, "Yes, and you'll never hear of another; I invented the job." hmmm

"Well, as it happens, I also have a business involving 'detecting', though I never actually call it that, and I was wondering how you would feel about that?" He looked up, "About what?"

"About having competition right next door, of course."

A small skeptical smile rose on his face, "I'm not too worried."

I frowned, "And what do you mean by that? "Not too worried"?! Don't you think I could be a competition for you?"

"Let me think...no." He was so infuriatingly rude! "Well that settles it then!" I stomped to the door. "I was going to offer you some kind of business deal, but no, Holmes doesn't think I'm good enough to partner with! So no deal! I'm leaving!"

And so I left and life carried on. We finally moved into our newly un-moldified apartment. I had my own room. It was small but satisfying. I didn't see too much of Holmes the next few weeks, which was fine by me.

Henry arrived with Coffee. MY business bloomed and though I didn't get around to hiring anyone, I did have useful informants around the block that would tell me things if I asked nicely. And I succeeded in keeping it all from my parents. They didn't know a thing about my business. If they did, they would probably make me stop. Occasionally I had help from Tyler though. And if a case involved math work, I would ask Charlie.

I didn't really see much of Holmes until my biggest case, which I believe even went in the local newspaper. Of course, it was ultimately my down fall because, obviously Amy and Henry read the papers and they saw what went down. And even though the danger on that specific case was minimal, they made it out to be huge. I guess that's what parents do. So I was banned from detecting. It sucked. Anyway, the case had to do with two men with guns, a bag of drugs and an elderly lady. I ultimately tracked down the drugs, got there at the same time two men with guns did, outran and got them arrested, which pretty much saved the life of the elderly lady whose flat the drugs were hidden in. For a fifteen year old, it was impressive.

So, six weeks since we moved to London. I was banned from my own business, still not adopted, and sitting at home, and bored as heck. That's when the phone call came. It was D.I Lestrade himself! Personally inviting me to a party at the New Scotland Yard! Most exciting moment of my life. And to top it off, for my amazing performance as an amateur detective I was to be the guest of honor! Later that night, after dinner, and with much persuasion and promises, Amy and Henry agreed to let me go. The party was in two days and I couldn't wait.


	5. In which I explain macaroons to Holmes

**Author's Note: OK sorry this chapter is kind of short. But after this, we have a mystery coming up! Reviews are welcome. **

_The party was in two days and I couldn't wait..._

...It was the night of the party. I was in my outfit and my hair was tucked into a simple but elegant french braid. The night before, I was in my room for about a half hour, trying to decide what to wear. I decided on nice dark jeans, with a dark green long-sleeve button up shirt. It was perfect. My height added with the outfit made me look mature yet not 'old'.

Amy stood with me at the flat door.

"Have fun dear! Don't drink any alcohol and be home before eleven." I rolled my eyes. "Of course." I didn't even like the taste of alcohol. I was about to step out the door when Amy added, "Oh! And I forgot to tell you but, since you're only fifteen, you're having escorts to the party." Escorts? What was she talking about?

"Amy," I chided, "I'll be fine by myself, I don't need any—" I stopped short. I should have suspected but my two "escorts" were Holmes and John. It makes sense that they would be invited to the party since they work with the police occasionally. They were waiting for me outside our door.

"Ah, Evelyn," said Holmes pleasantly. This was new. "It seems as though we are your escorts for the night. Just try to keep up and don't get in the way." I was about say something about who gave him the right to address me by my first name, but I was interrupted by Amy. "Yes, thank you for agreeing. It was such a relief to find out some one we knew would be there."

"Hello Evelyn," said John. It was uncanny how bad his taste was for sweaters. I decided to be polite to John, since rudeness only worked with Holmes.

"Hullo, nice sweater."

Sherlock snorted and earned himself a elbowing in the ribs from John.

I smiled, "Shall we then?" I gestured for them to lead the way.

I found myself squashed in between the 'nice man' and the 'mad man' in a cab. It was unpleasant, but I wouldn't let the presence of Holmes drown out my good mood. I was going to a party! Happy day!

It was a relatively short ride; we arrived ten minutes later. I followed my escorts into the tall building. Inside, there were quite a lot of people. People that worked there, I'm assuming. After greeting D.I. Lestrade (who was telling everyone I had a future job waiting for me here at New Scotland Yard) and meeting a few other people, I gravitated slowly towards the drinks and sweets table. As promised to Amy, I stayed away from the alcohol, but drowned instead in punch. It was delicious. I just hoped I didn't have a ring of red around my mouth. Ugh, the thought itself was too embarrassing to think of anymore, so I distracted myself with a macaroon. A woman with long curly hair and dark skin joined me and discreetly nabbed a few macaroons as well. She glanced at me and smiled, "You must be Evelyn, guest of honor." I quickly swallowed my mouthful of sweets. "Um, yeah, I guess I am."

She held out her hand which I shook. "Sgt. Sally Donovan."

I nodded and asked with mild interest, "So you work here, then?"

"That's right. I work with Anderson," She pointed out a tall man with a weird face that seemed to slope downward.

I bet you work with him alright, I thought. It was clear from the way she looked at him that she was completely taken. Ew.

I gave her my most charming smile, "I'd better go find my escorts, they might be worried," I excused myself and started to walk away, slightly sad to leave the sweets table. "Hang on a moment!" The Sgt. grabbed my arm. "You came here with the Freak and his worshiper? They are your escorts?" She must have seen me arrive with them. Now that I think back on it, it's funny how I knew who she was talking about,

"Yeah. But he's not a 'freak'. And John does not worship him."

"He is a freak and you should be careful around him. Have you seen what he does? It's revolting how excited he gets when a person has been _murdered. _He comes running to the crime scene, smiling like a child on Christmas morning."

I could tell she didn't like him too much. But this was my neighbor we were talking about, I had to say something, "He's _not _a freak," I insisted. I got the feeling not very many people liked Holmes and even though, I wasn't overly fond of him myself, he was a brilliant man and deserved a bit of respect. "But I get it, I really do. You don't like the fact that he is smarter than you." And with that I spun around to walk dramatically toward John at the other end of the room, but ended up slamming face first into Holmes's chest. I didn't realize he'd been standing there. A smirk rested with familiarity on the detective's face, "Hello Sally, I see you've met Evelyn."

"And I see you've gained another worshiper, Freak."

"Jealous?" he called at her retreating back. "Not in the slightest," she responded without turning.

Interesting turn of events. Obviously I need to be more careful about insulting people and I also need to make sure no one is standing behind me when I'm talking.

I cleared my throat, rubbed my sore nose and asked, "Have you tried the macaroons?"

On my way to find John after an interesting ten minutes of explaining to Holmes the necessity of macaroons in one's life, I got cornered by some people who worked as police and wanted to know all the details of the case I had worked out. I'm not sure, but I think I insulted them. After explaining as best I could, I think I said something to the effect of "Don't try to understand the complexity of it; detectives do the brain work, you police men and women are just the brawn. Not too much mental capacity for you all".

I know, it was bad. I didn't mean to say it! It just kind of...slipped out. Luckily for me though, John heard (maybe not so lucky for me?) and came to my rescue.

"I think that's enough punch for you, Evelyn," he said, trying to take the cup of punch from my hand, which I resisted. He shot an apologetic look at the officers. "Sorry, punch has the same effect on her as alcohol does on adults," he explained. The officers glared one last time and then wandered off. John succeeded in abtaining the drink from me.

"You're welcome,"

"Punch can not get someone drunk!" I hissed

"Then what were you thinking, telling them they had fluff for brains?"

Holmes wandered over, "It's true, John has told me many times: Just because you're smarter doesn't mean you should point it out."

"Thank you, Sherlock," John said sarcastically. Holmes glanced at his watch and announced he was leaving, which Sally Donovan heard as she walked past, "Past your bedtime, freak?"

He ignored her and began walking away. I decided I would go back with him; this party was boring anyway. I told John and he said he wouldn't be long behind us. I ran to catch up with Holmes. So much for having fun at a party.


	6. In which I learn the art of cleaning

**Author's Note: Greetings, my lovely readers! I present to you the 6th chapter of Young Detectives! Now, I feel I should mention that due to not wanting to have to revise previous chapters, I'm going to finish writing the mystery case before publishing further chapters. Soooo that may take a week or two, but I'll try to get it done as soon as humanely possible. Also, I noticed my views have been slowly dwindling...is there anything I can do/add to keep people interested? Enjoy the chapter! And review!**

**-NWW**

* * *

The next day was Saturday and Amy kindly let me sleep in. It was 10 a.m. when I finally rolled out of bed and and trudged wearily to our kitchen. Tyler was sitting at the table already dressed and just finishing up his breakfast.

"Mornin', sis," he said lightly. I groaned.

"That Holmes fellow, asked if you could help him with some stuff this afternoon. I already told him you would, just so you know," he continued. I groaned again.

"Where's Amy and Henry and Charlie?" I asked while pouring myself a bowl of cereal. He told me Henry was working ("On a Saturday?" I had asked) What with moving and all, the work never stops.), Amy was out looking for a part time job until she could find a permanent one, and Charlie was watching TV.

"So you're on babysitting duty, right?"

"Right," he responded. Great, I was free for the rest of the day. Well except for helping Holmes with whatever.

After my breakfast I showered and dressed and then sat on the couch with Charlie as he watched the TV and fiddled with my laptop. I could hear Tyler quietly picking at his guitar in his room.

At 1:00 I decided I should probably go help Holmes. I called to Tyler that I was heading next door and left.

I opened the door without knocking and bounced in, "Hullo, John." John was pulling on his jacket.

"Sherlock is in the kitchen. I was just going to do some grocery shopping; do you guys need anything?" He asked. I shook my head and he left. Holmes burst out of the kitchen, rubbing his hands together. "Alright! Finally you're here! Now we can get to work!" He pointed to a bucket full of soapy water with rags hanging on the rim. I didn't get what he wanted me to do, so I just kinda looked at him all quizzical like. He sighed, "The windows, Evelyn. The windows need to be washed." So I was going to be his cleaning lady. Great.

"You can hire professionals to do this, you know," I told him as I picked up the rags.

"This is cheaper."

I rolled my eyes and got to work.

20 minutes later I let loose a mighty sigh as I finished the last corner of the last window. I washed all the windows in the living room, kitchen, bathroom, Holmes's room—I got distracted by periodic table of elements hanging on his wall— and John's room upstairs. I went back to the living room with the now grimy bucket of water. "Finished," I told him.

"Fine. Good."

I could tell he was distracted. He was sitting in his armchair with his hands propped under his chin and he had a far away look in his eyes. I shifted uncomfortably, waiting for him to tell me where to put the bucket. He didn't.

"Where should I put this?"

"What? Put what? Oh, the kitchen sink." I did has he instructed and then left without so much as a 'Thank you'.

And that's what my next two weeks consisted of. It's like I had no social life with the outside world. I would go up to their flat every other day or so and clean. It wasn't always cleaning though. Sometimes, if Holmes was in a good mood, I got to help him with his experiments. Once we removed the brains of two mice to fry one and boil the other and then feed them to a cat to see if it had a preference. It was completely pointless, yet a lot of fun. In fact, I think he did that one purely for my entertainment. It was the first nice thing he had done for me. Anyway, the windows got cleaned, the kitchen scrubbed and shining, once I even got Mrs. Hudson ginormous and bulky vacuum (hoover) and cleaned out the couch and armchairs. During the experiments he would explain to me all the different uses of each element in use and ways to combine them to make other things happen. I think he enjoyed telling someone who was even remotely interested about it. I don't think John listened when Holmes would tell him about his experiments. I found them fascinating though.

Before I knew it, I wasn't even cleaning anymore, just experimenting.

About week later, I wandered up to their flat mid-afternoon to see if he needed any help with an experiment and found Holmes ranting about a murder case to John.

"Murdered! A man and his son were found dead in their flat. Their throats were slit and there was no murder weapon. The police got the call from the 25 year old daughter who saw it all happen, but she couldn't identify the killer. Apparently she's quite distraught."

"That makes sense. Her father and brother were just murdered in front of her," John pointed out.

"She seems to think the killer will come after her next, so she's staying at Scotland Yard."

"And they need your help for this? They must be getting lazy."

Holmes grinned, happy to have a new case, and began tying on his scarf. I leaned against the door frame.

"A murder case, huh?" I asked casually.

"That's right, and I know what you're thinking. To save you from further waste of time: no," Holmes said quickly, moving on to his long coat.

"You didn't even let me ask!" I accused angrily.

"I didn't need to, you're not coming."

John caught on, "He's right, Evelyn, a crime scene is no place for a child."

"A _child!?_" I fumed, "I don't see any children here. Why can't I come?"

"Evelyn," Holmes scolded sarcastically, "Anger and whining is not the most successful way to get what you want. And your parents is why, they'd probably have us brought up on kidnapping charges."

"They're not my parents," I responded sourly.

Holmes glanced up at this. "Alright, fine. But no getting in the way." Score! I was going to a crime scene! John did a double take, "What? Sherlock, no."

"Get your stuff ready," Holmes said to me as he was yanked into the kitchen by John to have a little chat about me tagging along. I practically skipped down the stairs to our flat. Once inside, I changed into a more comfortable pair of jeans, a red fitted t-shirt and a light jean jacket. I had been wearing slippers so I replaced those with a pair of sneakers. I grabbed my backpack and loaded it with things I thought might come in handy: A pen and notebook(a must for any detective), energy bars, an English to Spanish, German, and Russian book, my awesome camera, a pocketknife, and a London A to Z book. I also shoved my phone and a bit of cash into my jacket pocket.

Then I waited at the bottom of the stairs for my crazy neighbors.

"Ready?" Holmes asked as he trotted down the stairs with John following closely.

"Excellent," he continued out the door without waiting for answer. John paused next to me, "I just want to let you know that if anyone gets hurt or this becomes dangerous in any way, you're going right back home faster than you can say 'dead body'."

"I think two people already got hurt. Murdered, in fact."

"You're not helping you're case," he pointed out.

"Oh, right. Sorry, I have a bad habit of stating the obvious."

John smiled, "Sherlock does that, except with stuff only he thinks is evident. Come on."

We joined Holmes in the cab he had hailed, then we were off to the crime scene.


	7. In which I spy a deadman

**Author's Note: HELLO! Thank you all for being patient and lovely readers! I loved getting the new reviews! Now, I know this chapter is shortish, but I will make for it by updating soon! Sorry if this doesn't seem too interesting at first. Writing mysteries is not a strong point for me. Actually, I wouldn't know; this is me first. :)  
Anywho, as always, ENJOY!**

**-NWW**

**DISCLAIMER: I don't own any of Sherlock or Sherlock Holmes.**

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"This is the late William Moore's flat. He was found, in the kitchen with his throat slit, earlier this morning by his daughter Kaitlyn, who was visiting for the summer. His son, Thomas, also visiting for the summer, was found in a similar state except in his own bedroom." We were on the third floor of the building, walking down a hallway—the carpet was a frightful shade of orange—toward the flat, with Lestrade filling us in on details of the murder.

"And the murder weapon?" Holmes asked.

"Didn't find one."

Holmes barely glanced at the police officers milling about as he walked purposefully into the flat. I made to follow him, but John grabbed my arm lightly. "Oh, no you don't. Wait for me. You are not leaving my side." I sighed and pulled from his grasp, but stayed beside him, "Right."

"So have you got anything, then?" John asked Lestrade just outside the door of the flat. I was itching to go in. I could see the upper half of Holmes examining a body but his lower half was obscured by an island counter in the middle of the kitchen. Inconvenient.

I vaguely heard Lestrade say they had no leads but were going to question the daughter, Kaitlyn, and the other brother, Matthew, soon. I was getting impatient; jumping up and down on the balls of my feet, my fingers twitching, unconsciously plucking the back of John's shirt.

Finally John gave in to my insistent, and quite bothersome, actions and we entered the flat. I sidled up next to Holmes where he was still examining William Moore's body. I flinched at the first sight of the blood pooled around the dead man's head and neck. I usually wasn't too squeemish during gory movies but this, this was real...I realized John was looking at me with concern; I must have paled slightly. Collecting myself, I crouched next to Holmes as he started talking.

"He was a dentist. And a complete slob, anyone could see that from the state of this place. He misses his wife terribly, enough to keep a necklace with her wedding ring on it; not many men would wear something like that."

I peered at dear dead Mr. Moore with sympathy. "Poor man. Hadn't even started his breakfast before he was killed," I stated sadly.

"How do you know that?" John asked, ever ignorant. Holmes answered that for me, "The stove, John. Look at the stove." John obviously hadn't noticed the half-cooked scrambled eggs in a pan on the burner.

"Not that it will help us solve this case." The detective turned his glare on me. I hope it didn't show on the outside but I think I shriveled under his intense gaze. "The more important fact is that someone had the decency to turn off the stove so the eggs wouldn't burn. Could indicate a family member." I immediately jumped on the same page as him, "The sister."

"Or the brother," John added. Holmes nodded and swiftly got to his feet.

"Exactly."

He strode across the flat to Thomas Moore's bedroom. The first thing everyone noticed was all the Manchester United football team fan items. Posters on the wall, the cover on the bed, individual bobble-heads of each player placed neatly on an otherwise untidy desk.

"Are those...slippers?" I asked, peering at the hideous red, yellow and black colored footwear peeking out from behind the messy wooden dresser.

"It would seem so," answered Holmes slowly as he examined the second dead man's body. Thomas lay sprawled across the bed with his throat slit similarly as his father's was.

"What the hell is she doing here?!" asked a voice loudly and with disbelief. A voice I recognized...and disliked very much.

"Well, it looks like she's helping examine the crime scene, Sally," Holmes answered sarcastically, "And probably more thoroughly than you've ever done."

"Now hold on just a min-" Lestrade tried to interrupt.

"You can't let her in here, Greg! She's a child and this is a crime scene! There's a man lying dead for god's sake!"

"She's _helping."_ Holmes insisted. Wow. Apparently I was considered a bit of help to him. Though, it was probably more of a stubbornness act. He just wanted to get his way.

The adults continued to argue over whether or not I should be there. Mostly it was Sgt. Donovan against Holmes and John with poor Lestrade in the middle. While they bickered, I continued with my detecting.

"Rats!" I hissed under my breath as I accidentally stepped on a pair of M.U. boxer shorts. I controlled my disgusted shuddering and moved to poke around Thomas's desk. Nothing too interesting. I heard Donovan mention my age. Incorrectly, I might add. She called me 14. I was 15 and when I tried to point this out to her I was promptly ignored. Sighing, I dropped to my knees and peered under the bed. Finding nothing, I was just about to get up when something small and blue under the dresser to my left caught my eye.

"Jinkies..." I whispered. Then, not wanting to get my fingerprints all over, I quickly got up and snagged an extra plastic glove from Lestrade's pocket. He was so caught up in the conversation, I don't think he even noticed. With my now gloved hand I picked up a blue...pen. It was a pen. _Fantastic, great job Evelyn, you found a jolly pen_.

But wait.

What were these letters on the side?

**Chelsea F.C.**

Chelsea Football Club. _Thomas was a Manchester United fan. Why on earth would he have a Chelsea pen?_

I realized the "adults" had stopped talking and were looking over at me.

"What is that?" Holmes asked as he hurried over.

"A pen," I answered simply as he took it into his own gloved hand.

"Obviously."

"Well, you asked." I earned my self a glare for that one. John trotted over as well, "What is it?"

"A pen," I answered again, "Or, more specifically, a _Chelsea _pen."

"What would a Chelsea pen be doing in _this_ room?" John wondered out-loud.

"Well it sure doesn't belong to Thomas," I remarked. Lestrade had dissuaded Donovan by threatening to fire her for questioning his authority (a bit drastic, if you ask me), and now wandered over himself.

"What did you find?"

Although his question was directed at me, all three of us answered in unision: "A pen."

"What does a pen have to do with anything?"

Holmes rolled his eyes and pointed to the writing on the side, "It has always been an axiom of mine that the little things are infinitely the most important."

"And you're right," Lestrade agreed reluctantly.

"Of course I am," Holmes muttered and strutted out the room.

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**REVIEW :)**

**Also, I included a few of the original Sherlock Holmes quotes. Can you find them? Brownie points if you do! **


	8. In which I learn Morse code (kind of)

**Author's Note: I did promise you a quick update. Here ya go! If you've got any suggestions, don't be afraid to PM me with them. Or review. Or whatever  
ENJOY!**

**-NWW**

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We were on our way to Scotland Yard to talk to Kaitlyn, the sister who had found her family members dead. In the cab, once again squished between Holmes and John, I came to the dreadful realization that I had left home without telling anyone. I swore, earning a look from John, and pulled out my phone. Amy answered, "_Hello? Amy, here."_

"Hey, it's me. I just wanted to let you know that I went out for a bit with some friends of mine."

"_I was wondering where you went off to. Tyler said you just dashed off."_

"Well you know me. Always rushing about."

She laughed.

"_When will you be back?"_

"No later than 8 this evening."

"_Ok. Stay safe!"_

"Always. Bye."

"_Love you."_

"Of course." I hung up and heaved a sigh of relief, glad I hadn't gotten my head chewed off over the phone.

"Texting is easier," my fellow detective announced suddenly.

I glanced at Holmes and chuckled. "Not with mothers."

"Even foster mothers?"

"Even foster mothers. They like to hear your voice. Reassures them more."

"Suit yourself."

"I will." _Thank you very much._

* * *

At the Yard I stood out of the way at the side of the room as Holmes 'interrogated' Kaitlyn Moore.

"I was staying with my father for a few weeks this summer, same a -as -Thomas," She choked over her dead brother's name. "Just to visit for a bit, you know? And I came home from an old high school friend's place, and I -I...found them. Just laying there. All bloody...Oh, god!" She burst into tears. "Is he coming after me next? Is that the reason why I'm alive? Because I slept over at my friends house?" Holmes ignored her question and asked,

"Do you know anyone who is a fan of the Chelsea football team?"

Through her tears she looked surprised. "Well lot's of people are," she choked out, "Many of my friends, for sure. Why?" Lestrade leaned toward her, "We'll need you to write out their names and numbers," he told her gently.

Kaitlyn hiccupped and nodded.

It seemed as though Holmes was satisfied and on our way out of the room Lestrade gestured to Donovan who moved to comfort the distressed woman.

"She seems genuinely sad," John said with conviction.

"Anyone can act sad when their future freedom is at stake." Holmes waved away John's point as someone would an annoying fly.

"What about her alibi?" I asked.

"Checks out. Her friend confirms that she stayed overnight and left at about 8 that morning. The times coincide accurately," Lestrade affirmed.

"I'll need to question Matthew Moore," Holmes thought out-loud.

"We're on it. There's some guys bringing him in at this moment."

"Excellent."

* * *

While we were waiting for Matthew Moore to arrive, I got to sit with Holmes -John had excused himself to the loo -and wait. Lucky me. It wasn't a favorite past time for either of us, I learned. The detective typed away furiously at his phone, paced, and muttered to himself. Sometimes all three at once. I entertained myself by clicking my tongue in different patterns.

"That's annoying."

I looked up to see Holmes glaring at me.

I shrugged and clicked some more.

"Annoying and distracting." He stressed his words. I continued my clicking.

"Just stop, sto -" He cut short, and turned away.

"What?" I demanded, curious as to what changed his behavior so quickly.

He coughed and I realized he was trying to cover a laugh.

"You just said something quite unpleasant," he said.

"I did? What do you mean? No, I didn't."

"In morse code," he explained.

My eyes widened, "No way!"

Just then John popped his head through the door way, "They've got Matthew Moore here and the last will and testament of William Moore. Since both Moore siblings are here, they're just gonna read it in Lestrade's office. Before we question Matthew," he added.

* * *

We gathered in Lestrade's office and I seated myself on the floor and leaned against the wall; all the chairs were taken. I won't go into the boring details about the reading of the will. Basically what happened is that William Moore left everything to Kaitlyn. There was quite a fortune too. I guess William Moore had been saving his cash for his kids, instead of spending it on himself. Matthew actually didn't look too happy about this fact. I think he was expecting to get most of the inheritance. Kaitlyn looked just as surprised. I was happy for her though; despite her airiness, she seemed nice.

The truth is, while I was clicking my tongue, I was also thinking very hard about this case. I think Matthew was the lead suspect at the moment, since Kaitlyn's alibi checked out. Although, she was still on the table. What were we missing?

* * *

Matthew crossed his arms obstinately. I found this fellow to be rather unpleasant. As I had walked past him earlier, he stank. Bad.

"I was at with my girlfriend at the flat we share. That's my alibi. She'll vouch for me."

"Your girlfriend?" Lestrade asked with slight disbelief that a guy like this could even have a girlfriend.

"That's right. You can ask her," he shifted and lowered his voice, "We were getting high."

I could tell he wasn't too bright either. Why would he tell the police he was getting high?

Lestrade raised his eyebrows, "Well I hope you don't mind if we check that out. And tell us, do you know anyone who is a Chelsea fan? Are you a Chelsea fan?"

Matthew grunted, "Hell no. Manchester United all the way, mate. But no, not too many that I know."

"We'll need their names and -" Lestrade was interrupted as Holmes abruptly stood up and left the room. John and I hurried to follow. "Where are you going?" Lestrade asked loudly and with a bit of exasperation.

"Back to the crime scene!" the detective called back without turning.

I trotted to catch up to Holmes. "What did you think of Matthew Moore? I though he was kinda gross. He definitely _looked_ like he could be a murderer. And why did he just go and tell the _police _he was getting high? Not too bright, maybe? Just plain dumb? So are we looking for anything different this time?" Holmes rolled his eyes at my reasoning.

"Well why don't we just go and arrest him because he _looks _like a murderer! Good lord, Evelyn, how on earth did you solve the case you're famous for?"

Ouch.

"As for our trip back to the crime scene. You're not coming."

I tried to interrupt but he talked over me, "I need you to get more information from Kaitlyn. Get to know her, become "friends"."

My interjections faded.

Oh.

"Found out more about Matthew and the relationships between them. John you stay here as well and keep looking into Matthew's life."

He paused at the door, "And _don't_ visit his flat without me!" I smiled to my self as he disappeared. I was going to "interrogate" someone. Kind of.

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**Well there you have it. More soon to come. :) As always, reviews are welcome!**


	9. In which Holmes receives a love letter

**Author's Note: Update again! I was a very happy writer when I logged on earlier and found that I now had 10 followers! That might not seem like a lot to everyone else, but to me...I'm practically bursting! Anywho, here's a new chapter for you all. Go ahead and leave a review. They're always welcome and much appreciated. **

**ENJOY!**

**-NWW**

* * *

I was back in the room with Kaitlyn.

"So what's Matthew like? What was he like growing up?" I asked her.

"Matthew and I were never very close," She explained sadly. "As a teenager he was into...drugs a lot. He would steal from the local stores. Greedy, he was greedy. He liked having money. As far as I know he's still the same. We don't talk much." She pushed her dyed blonde hair out of her face. A tear rolled down her cheek and I shifted uncomfortably. A few minutes later and I had found out that she was going to stay with her aunt in the country for some time to recuperate from the recent events. She wiped her eyes, "Why are you asking me these questions? And aren't you a bit young to be here? You sound American."

"Very American, booya. And I, uh, well...I'm here with...my...my uncle. A school project."

"Your uncle? Then who was the other man?"

"_Uncles_,"I revised.

"Oh are they brothers? They don't look alike."

I decided to have a bit of fun.

"No, not brothers..." I smirked "...They're married."

Damn. I would so pay for this later. As far as I could tell John and Sherlock Holmes weren't gay. But even if they weren't technically married, they sure acted like couple sometimes.

Kaitlyn's eyebrows rose, "Married, huh?"

I nodded.

"A shame, he's handsome!"

Uh...ew.

"And did you say a school project? It's summer," she pointed out my mistake.

"Extra credit," I quickly explained. She nodded, completely fooled my my lie. I could tell small brain capacity ran in the family.

"Well, before you leave..." She rummaged through her purse and, after pulling out a pen and bit of paper, scribbled something down. "Give this to the tall one, will you?" She smiled cheekily and whispered, "In case he has a change of _direction._"

I quickly took the paper and left the room, trying to hide my laughter. As soon as I was safe in Lestrade's empty office I burst into peals of uncontrollable laughter. In loopy writing, the note read:

_Hey big daddy, _

_If you ever feel the need to "ride the other way"..._

_Give me a call?_

To top it off, a number was written at the bottom. It wasn't a very subtle note and the "big daddy" part almost killed me. Seriously, I was gasping like a land marooned fish when John and Holmes walked in.

"Learn anything new from Kaitlyn?" Holmes asked, acutely ignoring my mirth. I quickly calmed myself,

"Yeah, she and Matthew weren't very close, she knows he did drugs and was a bit of a rapscallion in his high school years -still is, according to her -and she's going to spend some recovery time at her aunt's place in the country. " I held out the note, "Also, you two are my gay uncles and she wants to sleep with you."

"Which of us?" John asked quickly as Holmes took the note. I dipped my head in Holmes' direction and leaned back in Lestrade's desk chair, smirking.

"And I'm not -Sherlock and I are not -no," protested John, determined to let the world know that he was, in fact, not gay.

"John, what does _big da_ -" Holmes paused and twisted around to glare at me. "Hold on, why does Ms. Moore believe John and I are a couple?"

I gave an innocent shrug but was saved from further inquiry by the arrival of Lestrade. I silently thanked him by getting out of his chair.

"So, have you got any ideas?" the DI asked as soon as he was seated.

"Haven't you learned that I always have ideas? No? Well, until you do, stop asking." Holmes said tersely. "Have you got the warrant to search Matthew Moore's flat yet?"

"We do, in fact. Shall we?"

* * *

On the way to Matthew's flat, I sat -once again – between my two "uncles" and thought relentlessly on the case. I was sure Kaitlyn was innocent. Everything seemed to point to Matthew, but I couldn't think of a motive...We knew he was greedy...Was he jealous?...Then something in my mind clicked. _The will._ It was so obvious! Why hadn't I though of it before.

"Holmes!" I whisper urgently. He turned to look at me to show he was listening.

"The _will!_ Kaitlyn said Matthew was greedy; he wanted money! Now that I think about it, did you see his face when he found out that everything went to Kaitlyn? Why didn't we think of this before?"

the detective closed his eyes,

"Stupid, stupid stupid. There is nothing more deceptive than an obvious fact," Holmes hissed. I bet anything he was mentally cursing himself and feeling quite foolish. The cab pulled alongside the curb.

"So, now we've got our motive. Who's up for finding some evidence?" John asked.

* * *

The flat was a pig sty. Being the neat freak I am, how anyone could actually live like this eluded me completely.

I sighed and stepped around yet another pair of boxers laying on the floor of the small living room. Yes, the living room. Adding to the general nastiness of the place was the fact that, as far as I could tell, Matthew and his girlfriend couldn't tell when food had gone bad. The place reeked like rotting flesh.

I continued my search, looking for everything and anything that would connect Matthew Moore with the murder. After a half hour and still no evidence, I was getting testy. Seems as though Holmes was too. He practically ran from room to room, his frustration increasing with every step.

"John, what am I missing?"he demanded, grabbing the doctor by the shoulders.

"Nothing. You aren't missing anything, Sherlock. There's just nothing to be found."

"No, you're wrong." He threw his hands in the air with annoyance and paced the room, "There's always something to be found!"

"We'll just have to keep looking," I said with certainty.

"What do you know? A fourteen year old girl on a case. Bah! We should have just left you at home with all the help you've given!" the great detective sneered.

"Sherlock!" cried John.

"Stupid me," I said quietly, "Thinking you were a great detective. Now look at you, utterly baffled and resorting to shouting at a _fifteen_ year old girl!" My voice rose toward the end. "Well, get stuffed!" I figured I was being a bit overly dramatic, but hey, I was allowed to have a small bite. I had done just as much work as him. I marched out of the flat and ignored John's attempts to call me back. I stalked past Lestrade in the hallway, his face full of confusion,

"What? Evelyn, where are you -?" Lestrade's bewildered voice faded as I exited the building. I would return in a few minutes, I just needed to blow off some steam. I walked about a block and then, since the street wasn't busy, I seated myself on the curb. Like, I said before, _stupid me. _I had thought Sherlock Holmes was a great man. And maybe he was. Just not a good one.

I sat for another five minutes or so then got up to head back and apologize...to John. Not Sherlock.

I had only taken a few steps when something colorful on the ground caught my eye. Ever curious, I bent down and picked it up. I almost gasped. Actually, I _did _gasp. In fact, I let loose a long high pitched scream.

* * *

**Oooh, what did she find? You'll have to wait until the next chapter to find out. Sorry!**


	10. In which my name is changed to idiot

**Author's Note: Haha, I didn't leave you hanging too long. Keep looking for those original quotes! They're hidden...  
Also, I'd like to give a quick shout-out to Neonstrings for being a wonderfully awesome reviewer! Thank you! I hope you like this chapter :).**

**R&R!**

* * *

Shortly after my scream, I saw Lestrade, Sherlock, and John running down the side-walk toward me. John and Lestrade both had their guns out and ready. Evidently they were shocked to find me leaning casually against a brick wall next to an alley.

"Evelyn, are you all right? We heard a scream and thought it was you!" said a confused Lestrade.

"You thought right. I needed you guys to come quickly, it seemed the easiest way."

Lestrade leaned against the wall, looking exasperated.

"Right, well don't let this become a habit, OK?" he disciplined.

"Show me what you found," Holmes demanded. I glared at him, but conceded and showed him what was in my hand.

It was a small flag. Small and _blue_. It was a Chelsea F.C . flag. This was the evidence we needed!

"Where did you find this?" He asked quickly and I pointed to the spot on the ground.

"But wait," I told them, smiling, "There's more."

They looked curiously at each other but followed me into the alley. I led them to a dumpster about halfway through. I lifted up the lid for them to see and their eyes widened. Well, not Holmes's.

A duvet, sheets, bobble-heads, and posters, were stuffed haphazardly in the dumpster. All the items were blue. I grabbed the edge of the duvet and showed them the tag. Faded black marker formed the letters: _M. M..._Matthew Moore.

"Nice find, Evelyn," John said.

"Yes, there's nothing like first-hand evidence," remarked Holmes as he studied the items. "Obviously Matthew Moore lied to us about being a Chelsea fan. He must have realized his pen was missing, figured it might've fallen out of his pocket at his father's flat and quickly got rid of all his other fan items."

"But why hide it so close to his own flat? Did he think we wouldn't find it here?" I asked thoughtfully.

"I think we all know the Moore family isn't overflowing with brains."

I was satisfied for the moment, but something was still nagging at the back of my mind. What was it?

"What about Kaitlyn, then?" John asked.

"Well, she left for her aunt's house about ten minutes ago," Lestrade informed us.

"Where's our murderer Matthew?" I asked quickly.

"He was released same time as Kaitlyn. We had no evidence to keep him there."

Holmes swore. "All Matthew wanted was the money from his father's will. For him to attain that, he had to kill his father and brother. But then he found out that all the money was left to Kaitlyn. So, now they're both free and Kaitlyn just left for some _remote place in the country! _What does that tell us?"

"Oh, damn," John cursed, catching on. I came to the same conclusion: Matthew was going to murder Kaitlyn at their aunt's house.

Lestrade dashed away, calling to his men to get ready. This time, we rode in a police car instead of a cab because this was strict police business. Plus, I don't think London cabs would take you that far.

In my usual seat between Holmes and John, to take my mind off my worry for Kaitlyn, I thought of all the adventure that the two men must have in their lives. Constant fervor. As much as I enjoyed it, I didn't want it all the time.

"Doesn't it get to you after a while?" I asked Holmes. I had forgiven him for shouting at me earlier. I figured it was kind of normal for him to get testy at everyone when he wasn't getting what he wanted.

"What?"

"This continuous adventure. Like, don't you ever just need to relax?"

I heard John guffaw next to me, "That's one thing you don't want to see. And if Sherlock Holmes ever relaxes willingly...Ha! Let's just say that something would be quite wrong with the universe."

"What about retirement? Everyone gets old eventually," I pressed.

"I can not live without brain-work. What else is there to live for?" Holmes said with decisiveness.

"Well, that's bloody cheerful, that is," commented John sarcastically.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Holmes let a small smile crinkle his face.

* * *

The ride was only about an hour or so. The mood in the car was filled with worry. Most of eminating from me. As much as I had laughed at her for finding Holmes attractive, I had quite liked Kaitlyn. Oh, drat...there I go, refering to her in the past tense. She was still alive! I must believe that.

I craned my neck to look out the car window. The sky was beginning to swirl with dark clouds and we pulled up next to a large house. I couldn't see any other houses nearby. We were in the middle of nowhere. As soon as the car stopped, and maybe just a bit before, John and Holmes forced open the doors and ran up next to Lestrade. Before I could gracelessly exit the vehicle, John trotted back and told me to stay in the car. I tried to protest, but he interrupted me.

"It's not negotiable!" He turned to go, but I caught his arm.

"Please don't let her die," I whispered. He nodded and as he ran off, I spied his gun securely in his hand.

The next few minutes were the worst of my life. Filled with gunshots and shouting, and I had to sit in the car uselessly.

I heard the muffled sound of a slamming door and I peeked over the edge of the window. From where the vehicle was parked, I had a clear view of both the front and back doors. It was Kaitlyn, she must have sneaked out the back and was now running through a field in the back yard. It looked as though she was heading towards the woods to escape the wrath of her brother. I needed to help her. I had my phone with me, I could hide with her till they had Matthew, then call Holmes and tell him we were safe. I quietly opened the door and ran after Kaitlyn.

"Kaitlyn!" I hissed as I caught up. She spun around, her eyes wide with terror.

"Kaitlyn, it's me. C'mon, let's get to the woods! We can hide there un -"

Kaitlyn's arm swung out and grabbed me by the neck. She positioned herself behind me with my head in an armlock.

"Kaitlyn..." I tried to choke out. Through my blurred vision I could see John running towards me from the back door. Holmes and Lestrade were right behind him. She let up a bit on my neck and I felt, for the second time in my life, the cool touch of a gun to my head.

_Crap._

"One more step and she dies!" Kaitlyn shouted angrily. The group halted, and stood with grim faces. John's mouth was a hard line, but Holmes' was completely blank. A clap of thunder in the distance made me flinch. Kaitlyn's face suddenly slackened. A horrified expression appeared on her face and she turned her head to the side, as if looking at some invisible person there.

"What are you doing? We're not going to kill_ another_ person!" She whispered frantically.

Her face changed again, "Shut up! You are weak! Let me work!"

I quickly realized what was happening here. Split personalities! There was Kaitlyn, and then there was _Evil Kaitlyn._

"There are two of you!" I said incredulously. I glanced at Holmes to see if he was getting any of this. But they were too far away, they couldn't see her face. Or hear her.

My captor's face looked pained as she struggled between the faces. She shuddered as it landed on the harsh one.

"No, there's just me. That other girl is practically gone!" Kaitlyn's face twisted with disgust as she said "other girl". "Now shut up!" Kaitlyn turned to face the police group again.

"You killed your family," Holmes called, it was not a question.

"Yes, yes I did. And all that money would've been mine if it hadn't been for my stupid brother Matthew," Kaitlyn hissed.

"You dropped the pen on purpose, expecting us to find it and everything in the dumpster."

"Got it all figured out, don't you? That was Matthew's high school stuff. He used to be a huge Chelsea fan. I nicked it from dad's storage."

"But how did Matthew not remember -Oh!..The drugs," Holmes chuckled (I can't believe he laughed while I had gun pointed to my head!), "Prolonged drug use can induce memory loss. He didn't have a clue he used to be a fan. Clever."

"Aren't I? I can't believe you actually thought the slightly mental druggie brother of mine was the killer," She cackled at their mistake. "_Poor Kaitlyn! _Did you like the note, big daddy?" This lady was completely _mental. _And a very good actress; she had me fooled. I felt stupid.

"Now this girl wasn't part of my plan," Kaitlyn continued in her ridiculous sing-song voice, "But she's created a perfect getaway for me. I'll just be going then. If you try to follow, I _will_ shoot her."

I felt myself being dragged away towards the woods. I sure as hell didn't want to get shot, so I did my best not to trip. We had only been in the woods for about ten minutes when it started raining. Great droplets splashed on my face and we were drenched within minutes. Kaitlyn had stuffed a rag in my mouth to prevent me from making too much noise, so that contributed to my terror. I really did not want to die.

Kaitlyn kept muttering to herself insanely. Between the sound of the rain and the twigs snapping beneath our feet, I couldn't pick out anything she said, but we were walking really fast, and I was starting to run out of breath. The rag in my mouth made it so I could only breathe through my nose, which meant a lot less oxygen for my poor stumbling self. To keep myself calm, all I thought about was how Holmes and John were searching for me and that they would eventually find me.

Hopefully alive.

After I tripped for a third time, Kaitlyn literally growled at me and pushed me into a tree. The slippery bark against my back was somehow reassuring and I slid down it till I was sitting and breathing heavily through my nose. She paced a few times in front of me until suddenly she said, "You're slowing me down."

My eyes widened with terror at what she was about to suggest.

"I think we might need to kill you."

My breathing became faster and I felt like I was going pass out.

"However, a fourth murder is not something I need on my hands right now," she reasoned.

A _fourth _murder? Who was the third? My gut wrenched as I realized that in the confusion at her aunt's house, she must have shot Matthew. _And whatever happened to her aunt?_

I fearfully watched her face change between the two personalities as she argued with herself whether or not she should kill me. She was completely insane. The Kaitlyn I knew didn't want to kill me, but the other evil one did.

"We've come to a decision," she told me slowly after a few minutes. She pulled a bit of rope from her pocket and tied my hands behind my back and then to the tree. I wasn't going anywhere. But maybe this meant she wasn't going to kill me. I struggled as she tied a piece of cloth around my eyes. I pressed my back against the tree, as she picked a fist-sized rock from the ground and stood.

"Goodbye, Evelyn," she said sweetly.

Then everything went black.

* * *

**Did you like it?** **Want to leave a review?**


	11. In which I receive a much needed rescue

**Author's Note: I APOLOGIZE PROFUSELY FOR NOT UPDATING SOONER! I AM SO SORRY! I forgot to mention last chapter that I was going to be gone and not have access to a computer for about a month. I am going to try to update more regularly now and pop out some nice chapters for you guys.**

* * *

I woke to a hand tugging the bad-tasting rag out of my mouth. As soon as it was free, I began screaming at them to get away from me. I struggled to escape the hands on my shoulders, but my arms were still tied uselessly behind my back.

"Evelyn!"

I decreased my squirming, I recognized that voice.

"Evelyn, stop acting like a child!"

Yeah, it was Holmes. I stopped moving completely.

"Thank you," he said, and began untying the cloth around my eyes and the ropes binding my arms. He pulled me to my feet and examined the side of my head, where she struck me.

"You're bleeding. Looks like she knocked you out with a rock."

"Feels like it too," I said with a shaky laugh. "Where's everyone else?"

"Still looking for you."

"And Kaitlyn?"

The detective's face darkened and he said bitingly, "They found her dead in a ravine a few miles that way. It looks as though she tripped and hit her head fatally on a rock."

I couldn't help but feel a small twinge of sadness. As much as I hated her for killing those people, the _real _Kaitlyn had still been in there somewhere. And now she was dead.

I suddenly felt like puking.

"Sherlock?" I said. His eyebrows rose at what I had called him. Sherlock, instead of Holmes.

"What?"

"I think I'm going to faint."

"Oh, I guess I should probably catch you."

"That would be lovely, thank you."

I felt myself drift into unconsciousness and Sherlock's arms.

* * *

The second time I came to, I was in my bed at 221C.

I sat up a bit too fast; I was overcome with dizziness, swayed, and fell back into the pillows.

Sudden alarm clutched at me as I looked at my watch and realized it was five o'clock on Friday. Everything happened yesterday.

_Amy._

How did I get here? And at what time? Was I grounded for life? Probably.

I sat up again, slowly this time, and tried to remember what happened...Kaitlyn had split personalities! Wait till Sherlock found out! I quickly -no wait, I swayed again -_slowly _slid out of bed. Someone -Please let it have been Mrs. Hudson -had changed me into a t-shirt and pajama pants. I quietly slipped out into the short hall and peeked into Charlie and Luke's room. They were still sleeping. I checked Amy and Henry's room and they too were asleep. Why was everyone sleeping? I checked my watch again. Oh...right...five in the _morning_.

Stupid me.

I heard a soft sweet sound emanating from our neighbors upstairs flat. It sounded like music. Of course, I had to go investigate.

I threw on a bright pink (I didn't mind a bit, here and there) robe and quietly tip-toed out of our flat and up the stairs to my dear neighbors. I had no reservations about going right in without knocking first. I didn't know what I was expecting, but I just wanted to see if Holmes was awake. I tactfully opened the door and peered inside. The music suddenly stopped and I'm not sure If I was surprised or not to find Holmes sitting in his customary chair with a lovely violin posing silently underneath his chin.

"Evelyn. What is it?" he asked without looking at me.

"I -"

"What in god's name is that repulsive thing you're wearing?"

"It's my robe," I said defensively, "And I quite like it, thank you very much."

"If you had any dignity, you'd wear a more decent color."

"Like what?" I asked indignantly. He plucked at his own, blue, robe. I rolled my eyes and sat in the chair -John's -opposite. Sherlock started playing the instrument again. Although it pains me to admit it, he was quite good. Better, in fact, than I was. My own violin was currently in my room and most likely feeling a bit unloved.

"How did I get here?" I asked abruptly, attempting at some degree of oral communication. He sighed, figuring I wouldn't leave him in peace to think, and put the violin in his lap.

"Well, I'm assuming you walked -"

"No, no, no, I mean, what happened after I passed out?"

"Nothing interesting," he lamented sadly. "I carried you to the car where we drove to the hospital to get your head treated quickly -nothing's wrong with you, well, you're still insufferably annoying, but back to my point- we then got a cab back here and Mrs. Hudson distracted your parents while we sneaked you in. Anything else you wish to know?"

"Knowing you -"

" -you don't."

" -I would've expected to be violently shaken into consciousness and interrogated as soon as possible."

"John said I had to wait until at least 7 this morning," the detective sighed.

"Thanks," I said sarcastically, "There is something I feel I should tell you about Kaitlyn, though."

"Really, go on," he replied disinterestedly, as if I didn't have anything to say that was worth half his attention.

"Kaitlyn has split personalities."

Sherlock immediately sat upright. Ha, so he _was_ listening. "I think you need tell me exactly what happened in the woods now."

I told him everything I could remember, emphasizing the part where he completely missed Kaitlyn's conversation with herself in the field. He glared at me, then. But strangely, the minutes immediately proceeding my knockage on the head with a rock, were all quite fuzzy. I couldn't remember them. I told him this and he looked at me thoughtfully, "We'll ask John. Could be medical, something to do with your "knockage" on the head."

"But it really doesn't matter anyway" he continued talking as he got up and paced. Through the window behind him, I could see the morning starting to get lighter.

"What do you mean?"

Sherlock glanced at me, an odd expression on his face. "You don't remember?"

"Remember what?"

"Evelyn, Kaitlyn is dead."

The memory of him telling me that yesterday rushed back to me. What bothered me was that I hadn't remembered any of it. Did I have a small case of amnesia?

"Oh...right," I said quietly. "Well I better get back downstairs, never know when Amy might wake and freak out."

I forced a quick smile and left.

* * *

**So I'm sorry if that ended a bit abruptly, but I wanted to get on with other parts of the story. My sis said I should have continued to write more with Kaitlyn in it and stuff, but I got a bit bored with it...**

**Please leave a nice little review!**

**(Just a little inside scoop: I listen to The Airborne Toxic Event while writing. They have THE BEST songs)**


	12. Tickets of Doom

**Author's Note: Hey all. It's been a very busy summer for me. I just barely got this written. And I won't be around to update again for about a month and a half. Sorry. You know how summer can be. But anyway! It's a kinda long chapter! So be happy! Also, if you are into this genre of story (meaning teenage girls at 221B) go check out the amazing story of Ebony! It's titled Kindred Spirits and is written by pruplup4. It's great I'm sure it would even make Moffat emotional. GO READ IT!**

* * *

Three weeks later I had much on my mind as school had started and was taking up a lot of my time. Time that could be better used to help Sherlock.

The school I attended wasn't far from Baker street; close enough that I could walk there with Luke. Charlie's school was further away but he was dropped off by Henry on his way to work.

Classes were interesting enough and I got good grades.

* * *

For the hundredth time I glanced at the two paper tickets in my hand. Should I invite them? What if they said no? Would it matter if they did? Why do I need someone to come see me perform anyway? I had two parent tickets to see a talent which I would be performing in. It was a huge show; schools from all over the London area participated. The problem was that Amy and Henry couldn't go. It was disappointing yet strangely I hadn't expected anything else. I was contemplating asking Sherlock and John to come, but I wasn't sure. I didn't want to be let down again. I took a deep breath and decided that I was use to being let down and that it wouldn't matter if they came or not. I slipped my feet into a pair of flip flops and trudged upstairs.

No one answered when I knocked so I just went in. I guess that kinda defeated the purpose of knocking in the first place but I didn't care. After a searching glance around the flat, I smartly deduced that no one was home. I sat in Johns chair to wait, then glanced around sneakily and switched to Sherlock's chair. I had never sat there before and I could see why he never let anyone else sit in it. The grey leather was soft and supple and just molded to my form. I grinned and crossed a leg over the other and steepled my hands under my protruding chin. A classic Sherlock pose.

"I deduce that you love John very much!" I accused the chair across from me. The window was cracked open slightly and an autumn breeze blew lazily into the room. I jumped as it caught a crumpled sheet of paper that hadn't quite made it into the trash and brought it closer to me. Ever curious, I snatched it up and smoothed it out as best I could. It was sheet music for violin. An original composition by Sherlock.

"Wow," I whispered at the intricate notes and dynamics. It looked beautiful but apparently hadn't met Sherlock's standards.

The title read "The Woman".

Had there been a woman in Sherlock's life? I must say I was skeptical and if he did then I pitied her. What was thrown away wouldn't be missed so I tucked the paper into my pocket. I wanted to try it out on my own violin later.

I heard footsteps coming up the stairs and the familiar voices of Sherlock and John arguing. I dove onto John's chair and ended up sitting backwards, facing the door.

"Ah, Evelyn!" Sherlock greeted in an unusually good mood, "Excellent! Just who I needed to see!"

My eyebrows shot up. "Really? What for?"

"I don't know...John said I should practice my manners and politeness. It seemed appropriate."

I smiled to hide my disappointment and said, "Well done. It was nicely timed."

This time I cracked a genuine smile at his look of pride.

"Whatcha up to?"

"John forced me to endure some extreme form of modern torture and to be honest I would have preferred the whips and fingernail twisters. Apparently one should know how buy food."

"Sounds intriguing."

"Minimally."

I fingered the tickets in my pocket.

"Sherlock?"

"Yes?" He sat in his chair and steepled his hands under his chin. I wasn't sure if he was actually listening or if it was just an automated response. Before I could ask, John walked through the front door with bags of groceries in both hands.

"Well you could have atleast helped me carry the bags!" He said with annoyance as he displayed the bags.

_-From John's point of view-_

John wasn't surprised to see the beanpole of a girl with braided brown hair and long nose gliding down her face sitting in his chair clutching a Union Jack pillow to her chest. Her visits were frequent and welcome. Her mind was similar to that of Sherlock's and she distracted him wonderfully when he was bored.

She went to a good school, got good grades (he knew because she proudly showed them to him after he helped her with homework), her foster brothers were fine lads and that just left her foster parents...unfortunately they were less than supportive of her. He guessed from watching her that they started out wonderful parents, then their interest in her dwindled and now she felt like a burden and a nuisance.

Sherlock wasn't the only one who could deduce people.

John put the groceries in the kitchen with a familiar routine. Evelyn got up and helped him; she knew where everything went and to avoid Sherlock's array of oddities in the refrigerator. Sherlock hadn't gotten up to help and from his place on his throne he noticed Evelyn twitch and tap her foot. That usually meant she wanted to ask something.

"What?" He asked. She glanced at him with confusion as she sat down on the couch and put her feet up on the coffee table. They immediately came down again as John shouted from the kitchen, "feet off the table!"

"I didn't say anything," she continued.

"But you want to ask something."

"Stop deducing me," she replied with annoyance and crossed her arms.

"It wasn't deducing," he said, talking to her in the same tone you would a small child, "I merely noticed that you tap your foot and twitch when you want to ask a question."

"I don't twitch!" She protested.

"Yes, like this." Sherlock demonstrated the twitching. It was quite ridiculous looking so she threw a pillow at him. He caught it and told her for the sake of his nerves to please grow up.

"I wanted to ask if you guys would like to come to my school's talent show." She waved the tickets in the air nonchalantly, but one look and John could tell it meant a lot to her.

Sherlock sighed and closed his eyes, "How many times have I told you, Evelyn? Such inconsequential things do not interest me."

John, however, had other ideas.

"We'd love to come," he said, ignoring Sherlock.

"We would?" Asked Sherlock

"You would?" Asked Evelyn.

"Of course." He took the tickets from her only to have them snatched from his hands by Sherlock who immediately started examining them.

"What are you doing?" Evelyn asked with a look of bewilderment on her face as she watched him sniff them.

"Someone in your school has been doing drugs. Presumably the person who gave these to you."

"Caleb Newman?" Evelyn said, her eyes wide, "No way!"

"Is he a student?" asked John.

"Not just a student, only the most popular boy in the school! Everyone loves him. Kind of a teachers pet and suck up if you ask me," she added.

Sherlock smirked.

"So you are coming?" She asked again, leaving the subject of Caleb Newman and his drugs behind.

"Of cou-" John started to say.

"If there aren't any more interesting matters to attend at the time of the performance, then yes, we will be there," Sherlock interrupted rudely.

Evelyn scowled, "whatever, I hope you can come." And with that she skulked out if the flat.

* * *

I really hoped they came. I couldn't stand being the only kid there without a parent or even a guest. This talent show was apparently a pretty big deal. There were quite a few contestants, I heard. Apparently it was very competitive and could get brutal sometimes. The winner would get one hundred pounds. I had convinced myself that that money was mine.

I still hadn't figured out what I wanted to play. The talent show was in two weeks so I better decide quickly or I wouldn't have anything ready.

I sat cross legged on my bed with my violin next to me and pulled out the music from my pocket. Smoothing it out once again, I positioned the instrument under my chin and tried out the first few notes. The melody was instant and beautiful. None of this intro thing, it got right down to the main part. I liked that. It wasn't a very long piece; only a page, but it was perfect. I decided this is what I was going to play. Sherlock wouldn't care.

At least I hoped not.

* * *

The night of the talent show came very quickly. It was just before six o'clock and the show started right on the hour.

The past two weeks I had intently perfected the song until I could play it from memory so I wasn't feeling too nervous.

I peeked out from behind the curtained stage to gauge how many people were there.

I take back what I said before. Almost every seat was filled and I was very nervous. My eyes hurriedly scanned the crowd for the doctor and the detective. The familiar sensation of disappointment plagued my mind and stomach when I didn't see them.

I quickly jumped back from the curtain, making it sway slightly, as someone yelled my name.

"Ms. West! Get away from there!"

It was Mr. Zitzner, the dean of my school. A very strict and uptight man, I hated him. Most students did, which resulted in him being the butt of many jokes. 'Would you like some cream, Mr. Zitzner?' 'I know a doctor who specialises in...facial treatment, Mr. Zitzner, would you like his number?'

Stuff like that.

"Yes, Mr Zitzner," I said hastily as I tried to scamper away. I didn't need any trouble from him right now. I had to focus on my music.

Before I could escape, Mr Zitzner stepped into my path. I cowered, praying he hadn't somehow found out it was me who had initiated the chair and cream cheese prank trend. There would be hell to pay for _that. _

He stiffly held out a sheet of paper for me to take. "Here's the line-up. Try not to mess up. I don't need my school to look bad."

Relief lowered my shoulders and I could breathe again. That was a close call.

"Yes, Mr. Zitzner," I said warily, in case he really did know something about the cream cheese. As soon as he disappeared out the side stage door, I hurriedly scanned the long list of names on the paper.

_Evelyn West _

There was my name!...and it was third from last. Crap, this was going to be a long evening.

* * *

**Woohoo! And there you have it! I actually do have a bit more written and will try to pop out another chapter before my long absence. OKAY**

**remember to check out PRUPLUP4'S KINDRED SPIRITS! I love it!**

**Also please REVIEW. I REALLY appreciated stuff like that. I mean you have no idea. Really. Thanks, ladies and gentlemen. :D**


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